The Number Game
by Crow-the-Red
Summary: Nothing was out of the ordinary. A few three's there, two's there. Even a one in the cell across the hallway. Count, count, up to the fifth level, but none reached beyond that point. But then, a Six, a worthy companion. Of course, if there are two Six's, they must become partners, otherwise the whole numerical system would fall apart. Let's play the number game. OC
1. Establish the Levels

**A/N: Okay, ignoring DP. Bully. I was looking through all the new fics, and then I had the craziest idea. Hey, I'm going to make an OC who's not a girl! -gasp-**

**So, yeah. This OC is a male, his name's Martin Waters. Enjoy his weird way of thinking. Oh, uh, also, there could...maybe...possibly...be some pairings in the future. Maybe. -shrug-**

**This story is in Martin's PoV. **

**Enjoy. **

It wasn't like I had done anything wrong. Or that I had stolen from anyone, or set anything on fire. Some of the patients in there with me had just been sent there because their families were worried about them. Pathetic excuses; they were taking up space that could have been used to house the real insane people.

But then again, I suppose the things I had done could have been viewed as 'brutal' or 'horrendous'. All I did was rid the world of a few people who didn't matter; they wouldn't be missed for very long. Just ordinary, boring, normal civilians. Time could go on without them, they weren't special. In my eyes, there were six categories in which to organize humans, almost like social groups, but not quite. The bottom level; crawlers. Stupid criminals who robbed and stabbed and scurried like mice when confronted, people who were like leaves in a gutter; not needed, not cared for. Second level; masks. Citizens who had things to hide, who were leading double lives as petty thieves or using prostitutes on the corners of streets. They were almost as filthy as crawlers; sneaky bastards, slipping money in and out in the dark of night, dealing and betting with stolen cash and precious objects. Disgusting. Third level; the norms. Average people who lived average lives, office cubicles, lawyers, and the perfect family life. Really, very boring. Once in a while I would see one with a slightly higher standing in the social ring, but not very much variety in this species. Any one of them could die within a second, and the only people that would care would be their families and friends. Simply dominoes to be knocked over, nothing more. Fourth level; clouds. Those who floated a bit higher than most people; nice houses, expensive furniture, the works. They were somewhat valuable, but just like the norms, they could be gotten rid of easily, without much work. Add on some more dominoes. Fifth level; kings. Civilians who stood towering over their peers; lavish lifestyles and managing big corporations. Unlike the lower standers, squishing them would take effort and planning; half the time, it wasn't worth the wait. Cops would be on your trail, and most likely, you wouldn't get away. Waste of time, really. Then, last, the sixth level; stars. Shining when viewed at. Those who had talents, who took their sweet time doing what they loved, and being good at it. Artists, musicians, poets, people the world could actually use. Being an artist myself, I knew that I wasn't like the other nameless cards filling the Earth with clutter. I respected those souls who were gifted; they deserved to be treated kindly and with more care than any others. And so far, I had only myself in that sixth level. Until, of course, that new patient was transferred there. I could feel his energy pulsing out, even before he came inside. He was a star; finally, another to join me at number six.

It had been early in the morning, before breakfast, when the sun was just peeking out of its confines behind a wall of dusty pink clouds. It was a rare occasion that I was able to view the sky through the bars of my window; but when I could, it was glorious. The sun could be a six, if it wanted to, I suppose.

But it wasn't the beautiful scenery that had woken me.

"Ugh..."

I groaned as a dull, constant pulse sent pain through my head. My pale hand reached to the back of my skull, trying to will the hurt away, but to no avail. Most of the time, I woke up like this. It's not like we got soft, white mattresses; they were about as hard as rocks, and the thin, wood-like pillows didn't help the situation. My back cracked as I stood up and went to the window, my mouth spitting out profanities. I kept asking for my stuffed dog, Walter, who I had brought with me on my initial trip the asylum, but none of the nurses, nor the staff answered my calls. How very rude of them. Didn't they know that the plane trip from Great Britain to New England was a very lengthy, annoying occurrence? It wasn't like I was asking for much, just some kind of companion. But no luck.

My hands fell from the window frame, dropping to my sides. There were no sounds, for a while at least, so I wasn't exactly sure what had awoken me. Sure enough, the pain in my head continued, growing in intensity every second. I gritted my teeth, sitting back on my mattress. Something big was coming, I could feel it. The doctors told me I was imagining things that weren't there, that my mind was clouded with illusions and sounds that only I could hear. They were wrong; I knew things, I knew lots of things. Nothing at the asylum escaped my notice. My brain had filed away the different nurses, patients, staff, and visitors that walked into the facility, along with information on each and every one of them. Sometimes I pictured my mind as a giant file cabinet; stuffed full of facts and research. I suppose that this was true, since we weren't allowed to have computers. I remembered a younger patient that had entered a few months earlier, who had gotten a hold of a doctor's phone. It was perfectly usable, and I almost strangled the lad after he simply smashed his head against the tiny screen and broke the only communication I had with the outside world. Luckily, the boy was released after the doctors found that he had a special mental condition that could easily be dealt with.

But my mind was much better than any bit of technology.

I was broken out of my thoughts when I heard the heavy double doors that led to the common room creak open. My headache jumped off the scales as I tried hard to not hiss in pain. Dear God, this was torture. It was a six; a six was coming. I knew. Not a four, or a three, or a two or a one. This one was on my level. A loud, blaring voice made me jump in surprise.

"You fucking dipshits, you can't just shove me in here! I'll cut open your balls and shove hot coals in them! I'll stab your eyes 'till they're soup, LET GO!" A smile crawled onto my face.

A feisty number six. I had next to nothing to entertain me in this dull asylum, except for Ronald, who was probably the patient who was the closest to sane around there. And thankfully, from the sound of it, I had found another source of amusement. My feet stood me up and carried me quickly to the small glass pane on my cell door. I peeked out, trying to see the newcomer. All I caught was a messy patch of brown hair, along with Doctor Mishra, who seemed to be struggling to keep his balance. Oh ho, this six seemed to be putting up quite a fight. Since Doctor Mishra was a two, I had no trouble determining that he was having troubles with this new patient.

"Doctor, do you need assistance?" I called through the door, letting sarcasm drip heavily from my words. I heard a grunt, then the sound of shuffling feet carried on past my cell. Soon, I got my answer.

"Shut up, Martin; This isn't the time for your crazy sayings."

I smiled, though the doctor couldn't see me. I had proved my hypothesis; this six was tough, no doubt, but not to the point of hindering his captor from speaking properly. So, in theory, the patient was tough on the outside, and soft on the inside, like a fried doughnut. Or something of that nature.

I could hear the new patient's cursing coming from the cell beside mine.

"Get your hands OFF me, you fucking man-handler!"

The voice shouted, echoing across the bleach white halls. He must have been pretty cross with whoever sent him here. I hoped Ronald didn't hear the new arrival; I knew from experience that when Ronald saw something, or someone, that he didn't know, he freaked out. It wasn't very fun to be around him when he started acting crazy. It was good that most of the time, the nurses heard the uproar and managed to give him a few shots to calm him down.

The sound of a slamming metal door rung in my ears, along with keys clinking together, most likely on a chain. The pounding of fists against the door sent happy chills down my spine. The six wanted to escape. I'm sure if I could talk him into it, I could convince him to help us both get out of that hell-hole.

I saw Doctor Mishra walking away from the soon-to-be-damaged cell. I made up my mind not to taunt him; if I decided to be a smart ass, he might not let me out during our constructive time. It was one of the only times of day that allowed us to get out and socialize with each other (not like I felt I needed to talk to any of the other gits in there). And I desperately wanted to meet this six, face-to-face.

Soon, maybe over the course of about ten or fifteen minutes, the fists against the door stopped their violent assault. He must have run out of energy. This gave me another valuable piece of information. The patient was hot-headed and had a flaring temper, yet most of the threats he made were pure lies. Therefore, it would take a little coaxing to get him to trust me, but I'm sure it would be worth it.

I said nothing, wanting to save my voice for when our constructive time came around. Now all that was left to do was wait for that time to come. Normally, breakfast (consisting of some kind of mushy, gloppy gray substance) would have been brought to us by now, but I supposed that the six had slowed down the staff a bit. That was a good thing. Not only did this prove to me that the newcomer would be a precious tool in escaping the asylum, he would also become a rather close friend to me.

Yes, I knew that usually, you don't always become friends with the people you want to. But I refused to let this chance to be close to one on the sixth level pass me by. Whether he liked it or not, the loud-mouthed patient was coming with me, and he would follow me and my demands, however far-fetched. Because it wasn't often that one met another like them. After all, there were only so many people in the world.

No sounds were uttered for about two hours, except for the occasional slam against the six's door. He hadn't entirely let go of the idea that he could get out on his own. How sad.

Nerves inside me send volts of pleasure through my body as I thought about meeting my new six. _My _new six. No one else's. None of the other patients would be allowed to touch him with their dirty, grubby little hands. He deserved better than them.

And my hands were perfectly clean.


	2. The Six Arrives

**The Number Game**

**Chapter One**

It had taken almost six hours straight, sitting on my bed and staring at the wall, for our constructive time to finally come. My head turned to look at my door as I heard the jingling of the nurses' keys. A loud 'clunk' meant that my room was now unlocked, open, free. It sent a wave of pride through me. One day soon, I would feel that pride and freedom, and I would be on the other side of the asylum gates. Along with my six.

"Waters, you just gonna sit there, or get your ass out in the common room?" A gruff voice signaled to me that it was nurse Rhenna. She was a rather large woman who smoked when the Doctors weren't looking. One time, I managed to steal one of her cigarettes, but it didn't taste good. I didn't know why she would like them. Standing up, I stretched my arms above my head and curled my fingers. I heard an impatient sigh come from the overweight lady waiting at the door. A chuckle escaped my lips as I put my arms back down and started to follow nurse Rhenna to the big room. If it was meant for entertainment, then they did horribly. The furnishings consisted of four very large white tables with attached seats, a pile of board games (my favorite of which was scrabble), and a padded shelf laden with picture books. Honestly. I was an avid reader, as I took one of Doctor Mishra's psychology books every day from the locked closet in front of the common room. All it took was a pick made of hundreds of strands of blond hair (my own) and patience. The hardest part was getting them when the rest of the nurses and doctors weren't looking.

I inhaled the sterile smell when we entered the room. Eagerly, my eyes scanned the area for the six, but drooped when I realized that he wasn't there yet. They most likely had taken him for blood tests and behavior recordings; that's what they did with every patient. Nurse Rhenna left me to take a position sitting at one of the tables, observing the others. The others.

No sign of Ronald, but the rest were out. There was Fredrick, a very old man with one blind eye, who insisted that he was the long-lost king of an unknown island in the Atlantic Ocean. Creepy, to say the least. It was like he could see everything at once, despite having only one working eye.

Then...Penelope, a girl that was slightly younger than me, who was sent to Happy Volts because of her 'friends'. I've heard her talking to absolutely nothing, but she seemed to be happy with whatever – or whoever – she saw. It was good that she had someone else to play with, I suppose.

Of course, not all of the people there were safe to be around. There was also Todd. I hated him with every fiber of my being; he was almost lower than a one. He welcomed me to the asylum with a painful ordeal in the restroom, an ordeal that will forever taint my mind. He was a brute, and I was slightly worried that he would try to touch my new six. No.

I shook my head. I wouldn't let him near my six; I was his owner, so I would protect him. Simple as that. But I still couldn't ignore the prying eyes gazing at me from across the room. Todd seldom spoke to me, or anyone really, but when he did, it was usually to ask me to join him in the showers. Now, keep in mind, I was in no way attracted to that ugly, hairy asshole, but like a lot of the older male patients, I had certain...needs. And it really didn't matter to me whether the person who met those needs was male or female. I'm ashamed to admit it, but sometimes when I had desires, I went to find Todd. After everything was over, though, I was overcome by a wave of nausea.

But, then again, Todd wasn't the only male there. There was Allen, who was about the same age as me; gingery red hair that fell over his eyes, and freckles on his cheeks. I'm not scared to say that he was greatly attractive, and I would gladly take him over Todd, if Allen didn't have such a fragile heart. I remember the time I tried to corner him in the showers and ask for help with a 'problem' I had. He practically broke down crying and insisted that I was hurting him. I've never touched him since.

Hah...but now there was another. A six to join the group. There was no doubt in my mind that I could have him instead of the others. And if he objected, I would just need to teach him to listen to me. That lesson might involve great pain, but as long as he knew his place, he would be fine.

I was dragged out of my clouds of thoughts when the door leading to the cells in wing A opened, revealing nurse Jones; he was a strict, tough-cookie man who didn't take shit from anyone. Of course, that just made it all the more fun to bother him. But when I felt the pulse in my mind return, my heart skipped a beat. The six was with him. Finally.

I took a seat at one of the tables facing the doors, folding my hands on top of each other in an attempt to look somewhat civilized.

A bead of sweat dripped down my forehead as nurse Jones stepped aside, giving me a full-on view of my new six. My six.

He had a casual, yet messy head of brown hair, shaved off halfway down his neck. Mocha colored eyes that I could see a mile away, and thin lips. I swallowed hard when I saw a scar reaching across his right eye. He had stories to tell; I would gladly listen. His build was in between broad and thin, his shoulders strong-looking and his posture showing his pride. The shouting earlier that morning didn't seem to have affected him at all. Good.

I frowned when nurse Jones shoved the six further into the room so that he could close the door. That man was asking for a beating.

"Constructive time is over at two. Don't cause a ruckus," The nurse said in a careless voice, walking over and sitting next to nurse Rhenna, who ignored him. The six scanned the room with rock hard eyes; I felt that if looks could kill, everyone in the common room would be dead. He made no movement as he surveyed the area, but glowered dangerously when Fredrick shakily approached him. The old man took this as a sign to leave, and went off to stand against the wall, mumbling things to himself.

A few more of the patients attempted to greet him, but all were fended off, either with whispered threats or feral growls.

Eventually, the six's mocha orbs rested on me. I smiled and straightened myself. He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth, obviously resistant to interact with another human being. This gave me no trouble; I would wait as long as I had to for him to sit with me.

Ten minutes passed before Six (as I had dubbed him) slowly walked forward and took a seat across from me. He gave me no acknowledgment, acting as if I weren't there. That simply wouldn't do.

"Hello, how ar-"

"Don't talk to me or I'll shove a rake up your ass."

My greeting was interrupted by a cold voice. How very rude of him; I would have to teach him some manners, otherwise neither of us would ever get out. Shaking off the statement, I tried again.

"That wasn't very polite of you," I said, tapping my fingers against the rough surface of the table. Six looked up at me with a dark expression that spelled murder. This made me give him an amused smile. He really was something, wasn't he?

The slender teen didn't reply, instead choosing to scrape his nails on the table in a violent way. I watched with interest when his mouth started forming words in a whispery tone. It took a bit of listening before I was able to pick out specific details and names.

"...Hopkins...doubt I could...can't believe...over...Bullworth, dammit..."

My ears peaked at the word 'Bullworth'. If I was remembering correctly (which I probably wasn't; I had been stuck in the asylum so long, memories of life in England were nearly nonexistent), my father had sent my older sister, whose name I couldn't quite recall, to a boarding school called Bullworth Academy in the US. To say the least, she wasn't the model pupil. Fist fights and underage drinking, mostly. Deciding to strike up a conversation with Six, I ventured out to talk to him.

"Are you referring to Bullworth Academy?" Thankfully, my voice remained even; I was afraid it would shake with excitement. Speaking to my six was giving me goosebumps. The boy in front of me raised his head, and looked at me with a suspicious gaze.

"Why the fuck do you care?" Six hissed, his nails digging deeper into the wood. It was hard to keep in a laugh. 'Why do I care'? He was being silly.

"What a useless question. I care because I wish to know more about the topic just previously mentioned. And also because your sensitivity of the subject is intriguing, my Six," I answered, once again folding my hands over one another and awaiting a reply. Six eyed me as if I had grown two heads; what was so odd about what I had said? I had answered truthfully, was there something else he wanted me to say? Finally, the teen managed to complete his response.

"How many drugs did you take today, you dipshit? Damn, and I thought I was messed up."

I furrowed my brows and tilted my head in confusion. I didn't have any medications that morning; I only took them every other day. But the part of his reply I was worried about was the last statement. Six was not messed up; no six was messed up, we were merely mentally superior to the other numbers.

"I have had no prescription drugs today, so your question is invalid. And you are most certainly not messed up, my Six. Though I suppose being brought to this facility has led you to believe things that aren't true," said I, leaning in closer to the brown-haired patient, who just as quickly leaned away from me. He gave me a grimace.

"Look, you crazy bitch, I don't know who the fuck you think you're talking to, but there are a few things wrong. One, you need to stop being a motherfucker and calling me a number. Two, you talk like a shitty textbook. And three, if you don't stop, you're gunna lose an eye," Six snapped, his fingers now embedded in the table because of how deep he had scraped into it. Involuntarily, I let out a hearty chuckle. The things he was saying were so very crude, it was impossible for it not to be amusing. I didn't take his threat to heart; he was just upset. He would learn to keep himself calm soon enough, just as I had. Not to mention, I saw nothing wrong with the way I had spoken; my grammar was correct and I hadn't pronounced anything wrong, so he had no reason to complain.

"Actually, I am neither a 'motherfucker', nor a 'crazy bitch'. I am called Martin Waters, and you should address me as such. Furthermore, your violent demeanor needs to go. You must accept what has happened to you, and try your best to rest your mind," I told him. I was glad that I had given him useful advice. But then again, I would never have let my Six worry his pretty little head about things that had no importance. It would break my chance to befriend him...not to mention, his attractive features would be ruined, which I thought would be dreadfully terrible.

Six clenched his hand into a fist, obviously frustrated with me. This fact gave me a feeling of sorrow; he would listen to me whether he wanted to or not, but it hurt to know that he wasn't happy with me. I chose to try and patch up my mistake.

"I apologize. But truly, you needn't waste your temper fuming on about being stuck here. Yes, you will remain in this mental ward for a month or two, but I swear to you, I won't allow myself or a fellow six to be retained here indefinitely," My voice took on a tone which I rarely used; comfort. I really did want my Six to feel better; it was painful to see the desperation swirling around in his eyes. He must have been trying very hard not to break down. This teenager seemed brave and tough, impenetrable, even. But his shoulders were shaking; his cheeks were tinted red; he blinked his eyes quickly, as if to block tears from flowing. There was only one answer to these clues.

He was scared.

I didn't bring this up. For the first time since I started speaking to him, Six was silent. For a split second, I believe I saw his fist relax, but before I could be sure, it tensed back up again.

"Then you need to shut your mouth, _Martin_. I'll waste my temper if I fucking want to. It's not like you know what's wrong, you don't know shit! So back off!" Six sneered, his voice gaining volume. I saw nurse Rhenna take a glance at us, but quickly returned to the newspaper she had taken from a stand near the door.

The teen's sentences cracked, showing a microscopic amount of fear. My hands clenched one another. I wasn't going to get through to him when he was so fragile. One wrong move and he would break. Regretfully, I stood up.

"I'll leave you, then."

Taking a seat at a table on the opposite side of the room, my attention didn't leave Six for a second. My heart pulsed in pain as I saw him wipe his eyes, obviously having had shed a tear or two. It wasn't like I had thought gaining his trust would be easy; nothing was ever easy in the asylum. But I hadn't expected the loud-mouthed boy to be so...delicate. He obviously wasn't used to being emotionally confused; he must have been the kind of teenager that never doubted anything he said or did. Under normal conditions, I believed he would be quite outgoing, or at least willing to give himself as much attention as he wanted.

But, as our encounter showed, it was going to take work to get him to become my real Six.


End file.
